


tempus fugit

by celegant



Series: beginnings, becomings [2]
Category: NCT (Band), SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Light Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, au where you and your soulmate have complementary powers, trope typical violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-19 06:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29995395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celegant/pseuds/celegant
Summary: "Does this happen a lot?" Donghyuck asks flatly, arms coming up to cross in front of his chest. "You getting thrown out of windows?"Mark hesitates for a second before giving him a half-hearted shrug, smile turning a little sheepish. "Occupational hazard?"(Soulmates, it turns out, work a little differently when you have superpowers. Sometimes, it’s obvious. Other times, though—Well.Let’s just say that Mark’s track record withtimehasn’t always been that great.)
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Series: beginnings, becomings [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041125
Comments: 32
Kudos: 334





	tempus fugit

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [stop all the clocks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27486244) by [celegant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celegant/pseuds/celegant). 



> yes folks u read that tag right ! ao3 user celegant is about to attempt a slow burn fic hehe (or as slow burn as you can get with soulmates anyway ksjdks)
> 
> this is a direct spin-off and continuation of my other fic “stop all the clocks” but with its events written from mark’s pov, so this can be read as a standalone as well (esp if you don’t want to get spoiled hehe)
> 
> enjoy ! <3

People always say that hindsight’s twenty-twenty. Mark would argue that it depends on who you ask.

His mom had probably seen the signs, though she’d never really said anything until after the fact. His older brother too, maybe, but Mark figures it couldn’t have been any more than an educated guess. A gut feeling, like some people might claim. No one could ever _really_ be 100% sure.

The logical assumption would be that children would inherit their parents’ abilities. Some do, of course, but oftentimes, they simply don’t. People have spent decades arguing over the factors that affect what you can end up with—from the nitty-gritty scientific things like polymorphic genes or the kind of environment one grows up in, all the way down to whether one’s parents were soulmates or not.

(Mark’s parents weren’t soulmates. It was a fact that he’d known about from pretty early on. It never really mattered to any of them though, because it was clear as day to anyone with eyes how happy his parents were together. They were just as—if not more so—in love with each other as any other mated pair out there. It didn’t matter that their powers didn’t match.)

Mark has read the papers though, he knows the debate just goes on and on and _on_.

An undisputedly complex genetic trait. Non-Mendelian inheritance in every sense of the word. But like a lot of the old doctors used to say on TV—at the end of the day, it all comes down to the luck of the draw.

Just a silly little game of Russian roulette that dictates how you live the rest of your life.

* * *

Mark—no, it had been _Minhyung_ still, back then—was only five years old when he realized he didn’t have a single clue as to what his father’s powers were.

He knew his mom could heal people, but only in their sleep. He’d even experienced it firsthand himself, whenever he got a little too sick as a child. He knew about his brother’s powers too, unable to remember there ever being a time without the comforting chill that followed his brother wherever he went. Minseok, older than him by nine years, had come into his powers before Mark had even been born. Cryokinetic, and a naturally talented one at that.

His own powers hadn’t manifested yet, so they couldn’t really tell, but his dad, for all intents and purposes, seemed perfectly _normal_. At least, that’s what he used to think. No flashy displays of power, or anything of the sort.

There was a little game they used to play with their dad whenever the summer months started rolling around, back when he was still alive.

Minseok had been in on it from the beginning, unfazed as he was whenever their dad had asked him to blanket the backyard with half a foot of snow. And when Mark was finally old enough to play, he’d watched from the sidelines with their mom, eyes wide in wonder as their dad went about helping Minseok set everything up—a snowball fight, his dad had excitedly explained after he beckoned Mark over to them, complete with ice-walled forts and _all the works_.

“Think of it as target practice,” his dad used to say, accompanied by a cheeky wink and an easy grin as he handed both his sons a snowball each. “Never too early to start training, isn’t that right, boys?”

Training for what, he hadn’t known, but Minseok never questioned it, so neither did he.

He and his brother had always been on the same team, back then. Countless afternoons under the bright summer sun playing two against one, but neither of the boys had ever managed to land a single hit on their father. Not once, in the two years that had passed since they’d started that little tradition.

Mark had never really understood how his dad always managed to win.

Every snowball lobbed in his direction either impossibly dodged, or swerved out of his way at the last second. Lots and lots of near-misses, and the occasional _you_ _almost got me there, kiddo_ , shouted from across the backyard as powdery snow flew past their dad’s wide, teasing grin. Not a single bullseye, despite their combined efforts—their father’s clothes had always come out the other side impeccably dry.

It was frustrating, he remembers. Because he didn’t know _why_ they kept missing.

When asked about it in the middle of one of their games, his mom had smiled and crouched down to ruffle his hair, playfully zipping her lips as she looked at her husband. “It’s a secret,” she used to whisper conspiratorially—Dad’s secret little magic trick. “But he promised me that he’d tell you if—”

“When!” A bark of laughter from his dad, followed by a frustrated groan from his brother.

“—when you manage to catch him _.”_

“Dad’s _cheating_!” Minseok had only laughed in good-natured disbelief from where he’d been ducked behind his side of the fort, blindly lobbing another snowball behind him as he shouted, “Don’t listen to them!”

It was never really the same, _after_ , especially not when it was just the two of them. Still, Minseok tried his best to keep the tradition running on his own.

Mark had always appreciated the effort, though he didn’t quite understand the gravity of it all until much later.

* * *

The day it finally happened, _Minhyung_ was seven years old, still bright-eyed in his naiveté and anxiously eager for his powers to make themselves known.

He’d been with Minseok at the time, out in the backyard once again on a bright, scorching day in late July. They’d been prepping for another game, he remembers, dressed up in a sweater and scarf despite the heat.

His brother was making it snow just for him, as he usually did—a little cloud of cool flurries that followed him around to keep him entertained while Minseok worked on their forts. Off to the side, there was a stockpile of snowballs waiting for them in between the short walls of ice, neatly stacked, as they always were.

“You know the rules, Minhyung,” Minseok called out when he was done setting up, tired smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Same as before, but this time we can take turns being the target. Five lives each.”

Mark had hesitated then, pout hidden behind his scarf. He looked up a little forlornly, eyes trailing after the snowflakes from his little cloud before mumbling, “Do we really have to?”

Minseok’s eyes softened as he looked down at his baby brother. “It’s training, remember?” he said, voice endlessly gentle. There was a brief pause, and Mark still remembers the way Minseok’s expression looked far too old for someone who’d just turned sixteen. “And I promised dad.”

Mark frowned. “Promised dad what?”

Minseok shrugged, a little helpless.

“Promised him that I’d take care of you,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. He crouched down and picked up an innocuous little snowball. “And that includes making sure you’re ready, powers or no.”

 _Ready for what_? Mark wanted to ask, but before he could even open his mouth, Minseok’s arm had already reared back, lips quirked up in a playful smile, and he could do little else but to dive down for cover.

“Not fair!” Mark had whined. “I wasn’t ready!”

“That’s just it though,” Minseok pointed out. Mark watched as another snowball flew overhead, landing a few feet in front of him with a dull _plop_. “You’re _always_ supposed to be ready.”

Mark had pouted, frustration building inside him as he huddled in closer to the wall. He remembers the way he held his breath, waiting for his brother’s next attack. Minseok was sneaky sometimes, always waiting for the right moment to strike. It’s how he used to play with their dad too, though his tactics never really ever panned out in his favour.

Young as he was, even back then, Mark knew his brother to be predictable. He remembers the anticipation that came with the impending threat of his brother’s next hit, the way he held his breath as he kept himself still and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

(The specifics of what transpired _after_ have gotten a little fuzzy over the years—and understandably so, after everything that had happened.)

When what felt like minutes had passed and there was still no sign of Minseok and his usual barrage of snow, Mark knew that something was off.

The first thing that he noticed was that it was cold—so much colder than it usually was, even with his brother’s ice all around them. It had been quiet too, and eerily so. There were none of the usual teasing taunts from his brother, none of the usual cacophony of noise that came from their neighbour and his dogs.

The air around him, even, was stagnant in a way he couldn’t put his finger on. Bringing with it a sense of discomfort that was quick to seep into his bones.

Mark raised his head, brows furrowed in confusion as his eyes peeked above the edge of his fort, only to find his brother exactly where he’d been, stock still and frozen mid-throw.

“Minseok?” Mark called out. He frowned as his brother remained unmoving in front of him. “C’mon, this isn’t funny.”

He remembers approaching his brother cautiously, dread settling in his gut when there was still no sign of movement. There had been the climbing panic then, suffocating as he’d backtracked slowly, eyes on his brother before he’d turned and rushed into the house.

He remembers calling out for his mother.

He’d found her in the kitchen, just as frozen as Minseok had been, unblinking eyes glued to the view outside the window. Mark had reached out, fingertips just barely grazing his mother’s hand before he’d recoiled—she was ice-cold to the touch, colder than anything Mark had ever felt before, and the shock of it had him hastily stumbling back.

“Mom?” he croaked out. No answer, not even a single breath. “Mom, please—”

The fear had followed then—for his brother, for his mother, for _himself_ —zipping through him quickly and making his eyes sting with unshed tears. The discomfort from earlier returned ten-fold, making itself known as the malaise settled heavily between his ribs and made it hard to breathe.

He’d made his way up to his room, footsteps dragging slowly and grip around the handrail white-knuckled just to ground himself with each step up the stairs. He’d hidden underneath the blankets, shaking like a leaf as everything started to _hurt_ —a burning sensation spreading from his chest, down to his stomach, all the way down to his shaking hands.

 _Mom._ He’d wanted to call out, to shout, to ask for help as the dizziness had come and Mark had squeezed his eyes shut to will the pain away. _Minseok._

He’d felt himself slipping after a while, mind-numbing exhaustion taking over from how long he’d tried to hold out for before his body had finally decided to give in. The last thing he remembered before his consciousness had faded was him calling out one last time, desperation making him forget.

_Dad._

* * *

When he’d finally woken up some indeterminate amount of time later, it was to the blurry sight of a nondescript white ceiling and the continuous beeping of a heart monitor from somewhere to his left.

“Honey?” His mother’s voice. Faint, almost as if he was submerged underwater. “Are you awake?”

He tried to turn his head, ready to ask her what happened, but the exhaustion lingered and he could do little else other than nod weakly in response. He’d been given an oxygen mask, he belatedly realized. And an IV drip too, from the slight prickling he felt in his arm when he tried to move.

“Oh, Minhyung.” There was something in the way his mother said his name, voice cracking with the last syllable—something sad, and even a little bit resigned.

He felt a hand on his forehead, brushing his hair away from his face, and he couldn’t help the sudden wave of relief that flooded through him, at the feeling of _warmth,_ and of his mother moving once more, touch gentle as it always had been.

He’d passed out again after that, melting back into the pillows. He didn’t know how long he’d been out for, but the next time he opened his eyes, it was to the sight of Minseok hovering over his bed, brows furrowed and lips pursed into a concerned frown as he looked down at Mark’s prone form.

“Mom!” Minseok called out, voice making Mark wince behind his mask. “He’s awake again!”

Mark blinked awake slowly, brain finally catching up as his mother had come into the room with an unfamiliar doctor following in tow. She hastily came over to his side, clutching his small hand in hers as the doctor went through his chart.

“What—” he rasped out, voice wheezy from disuse.

“We found you passed out in your room, sweetheart,” his mother explained, reaching up to brush Mark’s hair away from his face. “And when you wouldn’t wake up, we called an ambulance to take you to the hospital.” She exchanged a look with the doctor, mouth turned down into a frown. “How much do you remember?”

He’d given them a rundown of as much as he could, voice raspy and muffled behind his mask as he told them about everything—about _everyone_ —being frozen, describing in detail the inescapable cold and the pain that followed shortly after.

And he’d watched, throat burning, as a flurry of emotions passed through his mother’s face. There had been the shock, at first, followed by an increasingly distressed expression, Mark’s brows furrowing in confusion as his mother’s other hand came up to cover her mouth in an effort to suppress what sounded suspiciously like a sob.

Mark trailed off as he neared the end of his story, and he looked around the room, tearing his eyes away from his mother to see his brother’s frown and the doctor’s grim expression.

He didn’t understand.

“From the moment you first noticed your brother outside,” the doctor called out, “to getting to your room. How long would you say it took?”

“I don’t know?” Mark answered wearily, looking back down at the sterile white sheets in front of him. “A while, I guess?”

“And you said the last thing you remembered is waiting for it to pass in bed?”

Mark nodded, still weak. His mother ran her fingers over Mark’s knuckles gently, bringing his attention back to her.

“Baby, you were—” She cut herself off, blinking back her tears as her voice wavered. “You disappeared.”

Mark frowned, uncomprehending. “What?”

“You were there one second,” Minseok answered in her stead. “And in the next, you were just _gone_. I tried calling for you but you wouldn’t answer and I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“But—” Mark’s brows furrowed further in confusion. That didn’t make sense. He’d been _right there_.

“Mrs. Lee,” the doctor had called out suddenly, eyes flickering pointedly between Mark and the papers in his hand. “I think there are some things we need to discuss.”

His mother had squeezed her eyes shut at that, almost as if she was struck, before she’d nodded and wordlessly gotten up from her seat.

“Is this—” Mark called out, voice no more than a whisper as he stopped his mother in her tracks. Her eyes were infinitely sad when she turned back to look at him, and deep down, Mark _knew_. “Is this because of my powers? Did I finally get them?”

His mother had only closed her eyes, unable to bear the weight of Mark’s questioning gaze, and nodded wordlessly in response.

Time manipulation, the doctors had eventually concluded. An incredibly potent variant of it, and one that they’d only seen a handful of times before.

The exact same powers as his father’s, they’d said, as Mark’s world started to tilt on its axis.

The very same ones, as his mother would eventually reveal with red-rimmed eyes, that took him from them far too early.

* * *

His powers left him in and out of the hospital over the next couple of years, wild and unpredictable as they were in nature. He struggled a lot with getting a handle on controlling it, accidentally freezing time for everyone but himself with no way of stopping it.

His doctors claimed it was normal for children with his kind of power-set—the steep learning curve, and the tendency to overwork themselves to exhaustion. Too much strain on the body, they’d said. A constant start and stop flux at the cellular level.

The prognoses weren’t that great either, as they’d come to learn, and they were cautioned against the negative impact it could have on his long-term health if left untrained. It was one of the main reasons why there were so few adults that carried the same powers.

His father is—or rather _was_ —one of the few rare exceptions to the rule.

Mark’s doctors had eventually suggested having him be put on limiters, albeit reluctantly, after a particularly bad episode that had knocked him out for almost three days straight. As an accessory that the user can wear at all times to dampen their powers, limiters were usually reserved for more serious cases—criminals, mostly, and for victims that were adversely affected by someone else’s abilities. Their use case was rare for the general public, and most countries didn’t even prescribe them to children as young as Mark was.

They were given a referral though, in the end, to a doctor from an institute based out in Montreal. His mother had taken one look at him, lying in the increasingly too-familiar hospital bed, and had agreed to the move almost immediately.

Minseok, however, had chosen to stay.

* * *

Minhyung was nine when he moved to Canada and grew up as _Mark_ instead.

It took a while to get used to not having Minseok around. And where he expected some pushback from his mother, fully expecting her to set her foot down about Minseok staying behind in Korea, there was nothing but quiet acceptance.

Minseok received an offer from a hero agency a few months before the move, one that they had apparently been expecting—and preparing for—since before Mark was even born.

SM Enterprises. One of the biggest players in the game, and the agency that their father had worked for during his time as a hero.

He’d spent the first few months after the move trying to learn as much as he could, but even then, there wasn’t much he could find on his own. There wasn’t a lot of publicly available information on his dad—just a few small anecdotes here and there of him being involved in some team, littered with the occasional minor headlines, and the same generic hero listing that SME had for all of their recruits.

The most striking thing was though, that there was _nothing_ that explicitly mentioned what his powers were, or how they worked.

Mark’s mother had always been pretty tight-lipped when it came to their father’s old job, and even more so after his death. Probably out of necessity, Mark had eventually come to realize. An old habit born out of years of endless NDAs and a need to keep as much of their family’s privacy away from prying eyes.

He’d gone to her a few times, had asked endless question after question after question. And while Mark knows she tried to answer as best she could, he never missed the way her eyes would inevitably stray to the cuffs encircled around both of his wrists, expression clouding with a muted sort of heartbreak. She would plaster on a smile that never quite reached her misty eyes, and excuse herself with the promise of finishing her story _next time_.

He learned to stop asking, after that.

(Later, he would realize it was because the resemblance was probably too much for her to bear—the reminder of what _could_ happen almost too painful to think about.)

* * *

Minhyung was nine when he moved to Canada to grow up as _Mark_ instead, and eleven when he realized that he wasn’t getting any better.

While the limiters he was prescribed did their job, and he’d eventually been waned off from having two cuffs to just one, there hadn’t been much improvement on his ability to _control_ his time. Sure, he’d learned to keep his powers at bay enough to stop accidentally triggering them, but even when he did try to use them intentionally, there wasn’t much he could do once it actually started—or _stopped_ , rather—except to wait it out until the exhaustion finally hit.

It was frustrating, to say the least, and he knew the doctors could only do so much without him being properly trained.

The thought had come and gone over the years—of the _what ifs_ and _maybes_ that came with the idea of following in his father’s footsteps. He knew of the risks, of course, and even more-so of the consequences. The blueprints of what awaited him in the future previewed with painstaking clarity if he ever decided to go down this path.

He knew, and yet still, he couldn’t help but wonder.

“So,” Mark had begun hesitantly, during one of Minseok’s regular check-up calls. He’d been twelve, at the time, a scant few months away from turning thirteen. “What’s it like?”

“What’s _what_ like?” Minseok snorted good-naturedly, voice tinny over the phone. “You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific there, bud.”

“All the hero work and the training stuff,” he murmured. “What’s it actually like? For you and for—” Mark cut himself off. _Dad_ , he’d wanted to say, but thought better of it. “Isn’t it... hard?”

The line was quiet for a while, save for a slow exhale as Minseok gathered his thoughts.

“Well, of course, it’s hard,” his brother eventually answered, amused exasperation colouring his voice. “It’s probably one of the hardest things you could do, really. Heroes get beat up a lot on missions, and training’s always hell so you’re always sore. The paperwork’s a bitch, there’s always cameras around _everywhere_ , and you never know who you’re going to end up teaming with.” Minseok huffed out a small laugh then, as he neared the end of his rant. “Plus, I’m still technically a rookie, so we’re always on call.”

“That—” Mark scrunched his nose up at that. “That doesn’t sound very fun.”

“ _But_ ,” Minseok continued pointedly. “That doesn’t mean being a hero isn’t worth it.” His voice softened then, words lined with a quiet sort of pride—the kind tinged with a sort of lingering sense of awe. “You know, I helped save a little girl’s life the other day.”

Mark blinked. “You did?”

“There was a fire,” Minseok explained in lieu of answering. “And it was already too out of control by the time the firefighters got to the scene. They called us in for search and rescue, and I managed to cool it down enough to get inside the building.” There was a pause, before he heard Minseok sigh. “She’d been alone, trapped on the third floor behind some rubble.”

“And you... got her out?”

“She didn’t want to, at first. I probably scared her as much as the fire did,” Minseok said, before chuckling. “I made her one of those little clouds I used to make you when you were a kid, and that distracted her enough to calm her down so we could carry her out of there.”

Mark said nothing for a while, trying to imagine how everything went down in his head.

There were always a lot of details that got overshadowed by the grandiose headlines. Unheard stories of what happens _after_ , as a result of all of these incidents—of all the victims and collateral damage that lie in their wake. It’s one thing to hear about these kinds of incidents from the news outlets and the tabloids, and another thing altogether to hear it straight from the source.

“Hero work is tough, I won’t sugarcoat it,” Minseok said, the blunt honesty breaking Mark out of his reverie. “It’s never as black and white as the media makes it out to be, despite what most people think, and there’s a lot of stuff behind the scenes that could drive anyone mad.”

Minseok’s voice had lowered then, and Mark felt the gravity of his words all the way on the other side of the world. “But like I said, it’s worth it, I think. For a chance to be the difference between someone dying or living to see another day.”

Mark was silent for a while, taking in his brother’s words. He knew Minseok wasn’t doing it for the fame or glory. Their father had taught them better than that. But still, the doubt lingered, nagging in the back of his head—about whether or not he could do it too.

About whether or not this is really something he even _wanted_ to do, for himself.

His brother, though, knew him better than he gave him credit for.

“But enough with all of that,” Minseok snorted. “I’m sure you didn’t call me because you wanted me to go all preachy on you.” Mark didn’t even have to imagine the knowing look that was sure to be plastered all over his brother’s face. “You called me for a specific reason though, didn’t you? What’s on your mind?”

“I was thinking...” Mark swallowed thickly, trailing off.

Minseok waited, as he always did—never pushing, ever patient. “Yes?”

“Once I’m off my limiters,” Mark started quietly, looking down at his hands. “I’m wondering if it wouldn’t be a bad idea to… try, at least. Maybe. Going the hero route, I mean.” He trailed off, hesitance colouring his voice and making it meek. “What do you think—”

“What I think doesn’t matter, Minhyung.”

“But—”

“The question you have to ask yourself right now,” Minseok continued on, “is _who_ you’re going to be doing this for, and _why_. Don’t do this just because of the family legacy, or because you and Dad had the same powers and you think that this is what you _have_ to do.”

Mark nodded, though he knew Minseok couldn’t see. He wanted—no, needed—to get better at using his powers. And even more than that, he needed to learn about what he can _do_ with them—to see if there was anything other than the prospect of living the rest of his life in fear of whether the next time he uses his powers would finally be his breaking point.

“It’s a big risk. _Especially_ for you,” Minseok said, voice lowering enough that Mark had to strain to hear him. “So don’t just go doing it for all the wrong reasons, okay? I’ll back you up regardless of what you decide, but I don’t want you to end up regretting it.”

“Okay,” Mark swallowed thickly. “Yeah, okay. I promise I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” There’d been a lengthy pause then, before he heard Minseok let out a soft sigh. “And for what it’s worth,” his brother had quietly called out. “You know Dad would’ve been really proud of you, right?”

Mark had stilled then, chest tightening before slowly letting out a shaky breath.

“I know.” _I hope._

* * *

It’d taken a few more years of back and forth, of years of research and countless late nights staring up unblinkingly at his ceiling as the lingering doubt crept in and out of his thoughts, before he managed to come to a decision.

True to form, SME’s scouting team had come knocking on their door as soon as Mark had turned eighteen, and he’d accepted their offer despite his mother’s initial protests. Minseok had been there every step of the way from the other side of the world, fretting over Mark from the moment his flight landed him back home in Korea, up until he’d arrived at the compound as a freshly minted trainee.

Six years, Mark reminisces.

Six _gruelling_ years as he trained within the system, hidden in plain sight as just another one of SME’s many, many trainees. He’d taken on his mother’s last name when he decided to move back, advised by the higher ups to keep Mark’s relation to Minseok under wraps—a preemptive security measure, they’d reasoned at the time. Partly because Minseok was still an active hero and having that known connection would make him a liability, but it was mostly to keep information about Mark and his powers out of the public eye for as long as they could.

 _Your kind of powers work best when others don’t know what to look for_ , his trainers used to say. _Best if no one on the other side knew what you were capable of just yet_.

It was something they’d learned during his father’s short tenure. His old _modus operandi_ , of sorts—to stay hidden as backline support until the time was right, in and out of missions before the bad guys could realize he was ever even there, let alone before they could realize what he could _do_.

It worked well enough for his father back then, and they figured it’d work just as well for Mark now.

Mark remembers spending the years in between training sessions pouring over each and every one of his father’s private case files, over and over again until he was sure he could recite them from memory. He’d studied how his father worked, both alone and as part of a team, read over every tactic he used out in the field—which powers synergized well with him and which ones didn’t.

Mission logs, debriefs, and _medical reports_. Every document in SME’s system that he could possibly get his hands on and then some. He found records of their family dating back to when Minseok was first born, all the way up to their mom’s current home address in Canada. Everything tracked and logged from the moment you sign that contract.

It was excessive, but not surprising.

What _was_ surprising though, was the short one-pager appended at the end of one of his dad’s older dossiers. The document itself was almost completely blank, but that wasn’t what caught Mark’s eye.

 _Soulmate Profile_ , the headings had read, with the official SME logo emblazoned on the letterhead.

_Current whereabouts: Unknown._

* * *

Mark gets his first real assignment as a fully debuted superhero about a week after his 24th birthday.

“I’m being assigned to _what_?”

Ten grins, and uses Mark’s split second of hesitation at the news to his advantage, side-stepping Mark’s incoming punch and using the change in momentum to quickly toss him over his shoulder. Mark lands on his back with a dull _thud_ , knocking the wind out of him despite the cushioned mats of the training room.

“3-1,” Ten quips. “Don’t get distracted.”

“Cheap shot,” Mark wheezes, looking up with a weak glare.

His arm’s already starting to hurt, still twisted in Ten’s hold as the older hero pins the rest of his body down with a knee to the ribs. His other hand slaps the mat twice in rapid succession, a signal for mercy, and Ten releases him with an amused snort.

Mark closes his eyes and flops down spread-eagle with a tired sigh, still trying to catch his breath both from getting his ass handed to him, and from the information bombshell that Ten decided to casually drop in the middle of sparring practice.

He counts as a handful of seconds tick by in his head, but Ten says nothing to correct himself. Instead, he feels Ten gently nudge a foot into his side, as if prodding to check if he was still alive.

Mark cracks open a baleful eye. “What the hell do you mean I’m being assigned to _SuperM_?”

Ten shrugs, and moves to sit down next to him, elbow on his knee and head resting in the palm of his hand as he studies Mark’s prone form before him. “Heard it straight from the source,” he says, the corner of his lips quirking up into a small smirk. “Looks like you’re joining us in the big leagues soon, Markles.”

“But why _me_?” Mark frowns. He’d been expecting to start off on a smaller team, like all the others had. After all, his skills weren’t exactly best-suited for being in the middle of the limelight. “Are you sure you heard right?”

“It came from the big man himself at the last board meeting,” Ten says. “They had the whole team attend and they announced you in front of all the investors and everything.” He leans back with another shrug, head tilting from side to side to work out the kinks in his neck. “That’s basically as official as it can get? I mean, at least before PR dolls you up for the cameras and throws you to the sharks.”

Mark lifts an arm to shield his eyes as he suppresses a groan. He can already imagine the media shitstorm his announcement is going to bring, and mentally bids a sad farewell to the quiet career as an under-the-radar hero that he’d been imagining for himself up until now.

Ten pats his stomach affectionately before standing back up, a sympathetic look on his face. “It’s not that bad once you get used to it,” he says. “Plus, don’t you already know like, half the team anyway?”

Mark purses his lips in consideration. That much was true, at least. Taeyong, Lucas, and even Ten himself—familiar enough faces from his years as a trainee that it wouldn’t be that awkward joining an already established team.

But, still.

Mark sighs one last time, before moving to get up. He’ll have time to think about this later, if the decision was as final as Ten had made it seem. He takes the hand that Ten holds out to tug him up to stand, unable to hide the wince as his shoulder twinges painfully.

Ten catches it though, an eyebrow raising pointedly as he holds his hand up to Mark’s shoulder, but stopping short to wait for Mark to give his permission. He thinks about it for a second, before nodding and rolling up his sleeve, a prickling sensation passing through where Ten’s fingers make contact with bare skin.

And just as quickly as the pain had come, it was gone. Mark gives Ten a crooked grin in thanks as he rolls his shoulder to test it out, and though he knows it's only temporary, it was basically good as new.

“You still gotta remember to ice it when you get back,” Ten warns. “You know it won’t last long.”

“I know the drill,” Mark waves his concerns off with an easy smile, moving to the other end of the mat for another round. “So, how long have you been stockpiling it up this time? Heard you used up all your reserves on a guy that went Rogue up north last week.”

Ten hums in confirmation. “Not too long, actually, just a couple of days?” he says loftily. “Though I did pass by medbay yesterday.” Ten’s smile sharpens then, and Mark’s reminded of why he made the cut for the team in the first place. “Subbed in for the anesthesiologist when they were running late for surgery.”

Pain Transference, Mark recalls, thinking back to his first year when Ten had taken him and a few of the other rookies under his wing. The ability to transfer pain from one person to another. A walking painkiller for his allies, but an instant paralytic for anyone that goes up against him.

“You’re terrifying, you know that?” Mark says with a shaky laugh, sending a silent prayer up in his head for whichever poor sap has the misfortune of running into Ten during his next mission. He pauses then, a sudden thought occurring to him. “Wait, have you—”

“Hm?”

Mark eyes him warily. “Have you ever… y’know, used your powers on the team?”

“What, to take the pain away? Sure, lots of times. Probably more than I can count at this point.”

“Oh.” A sigh of relief. “Well. That’s good, I g—”

“ _But_ if you’re asking if I’ve ever used it the other way around—”

Ten winks, and Mark wonders if it isn’t too late to file for a transfer to a different company.

“I’m sure you’ll find out for yourself soon enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: superm and our favourite resident doctors

**Author's Note:**

> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/dhyuckiees) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/dhyuckIees)
> 
> I can’t tell you guys how absolutely nervous (and excited !!) I am for this fic ;;; it’s been a bit of a long time coming, and has been simmering in the back of my mind ever since I came up with the premise for satc ^^ 
> 
> Since this is my first attempt at a (proper) longfic, I would really really love to hear what you guys think ;; And as always, kudos and comments will be much appreciated <3


End file.
